Sub Rosa
by Fudgyokra
Summary: Even if it was just for tonight—even if it was just for this moment—John Silver felt whole.


**Sub Rosa**

 **A/N:** This is my eightieth fanfic! That's pretty neat! I'm pretty proud of this one, but I'm working on another that I like even better. Something about Silverhawk must make me want to produce a better product. As an added bonus, I managed to shove two whole Treasure Island references in this.

* * *

It was not long past noon when it happened: another hitch in the road that no one saw coming.

A few months had passed since the incident with Mr. Arrow, so when the ship lurched to the side randomly in their voyage, Jim's first instinct was to panic. The only thing he could coherently think was _not again_ , playing like a frantic mantra in his head as he firmly planted his feet on the deck.

Around him the stars shifted position, a consequential occurrence that served as his cue to make a dash for the lifelines. He was halfway there when a large hand came down on his shoulder, yanking him backward into a solid mass he quickly realized was a living being. His captor began inching down the galley steps, dragging Jim with them, flailing limbs and all. His startled cry was stifled by the supposed kidnapper's other hand—a tellingly robotic one. Relief coursed through his veins at once, though he did elbow Silver in the gut when the man released him at the bottom of the stairs.

"What was that for?" Jim hissed, only to be shushed.

Silver had a wary look about him. His eyes swept back and forth over the expanse of the galley analytically, as if he expected to see something unsavory lurking in the shadows. Jim had a feeling that that was exactly the case.

Out of nowhere, several alarmed cries sounded from the deck, and that was when Silver chose to move again. Without explanation he wound an arm around Jim's waist and shoved him into the kitchen, where he followed after casting one more glance over his shoulder.

"What's going on?" the boy asked. His wide eyes couldn't pick a place on which to focus until he heard Morph's frightened babbling directly above him. "Morph!"

Upon hearing his name, the blob launched itself directly into Jim's pocket, shivering and shuddering still. "What's wrong?" he reiterated. "I don't know—"

"Would ye shut yer trap for six bloomin' seconds?" Silver said in a frustrated whisper.

Jim all but scoffed in offense. "Yeah, if you would tell me why you dragged me down here!"

The cook had still been glancing around uneasily prior to Jim's aggravated response, but at that moment he seemed to have been struck with a good idea. Once more, Jim found himself being directed by rough manhandling, this time into the kitchen's pantry. It was just barely a wide enough space for Silver himself to get into but he succeeded, shutting the door and forcing the boy against the back wall.

Jim would never admit that his breath caught in his throat for a split second before he could choke out, "What are you—"

" _Pirates_ ," Silver said, his voice full of grim warning. Jim's blood turned to ice.

The next few seconds ticked by in silence while they stood in the pitch black pantry. In the absence of conversation they could hear thumping and yelling on deck, accompanied by the occasional gunshot. The ship swayed a little.

Jim's eyes adjusted enough for him to see that he'd been boxed in. He stood in the dead center of a shield comprised of the wall behind him, a row of closed barrels on each flank, and, of course, Silver in front, eyeing him with a look of concern.

"What?" Jim mouthed.

Silver deemed it safe enough to whisper, "Are ye okay, lad?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"Yer not hurt, now, are ya?"

"A little bruised from _someone_ pushing me around," he replied, aiming a pointed glare up at the man, "but otherwise fine."

"Oh thank heavens." Silver only had enough time for a short breath of relief before the ship rocked violently to the side once more. Pots and pans could be heard clattering to the floor in the kitchen. He swore, shoved Jim down to the floor by the shoulders, and crouched before him.

Jim was doing his best not to look anxious, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying his lip with his front teeth.

"Don't be scared, Jimbo," Silver reassured him.

"I'm _not_ scared," was the instant retort, perhaps a little louder than he'd intended. Despite his words, Silver could see that his hands shook at his sides. "I'm just nervous. I mean, there are _pirates_ on our ship." For good measure, he repeated with emphasis, "On _our_ ship."

A brief, uncomfortable groan preceded Silver's drawled, "Right…"

From the deck, a monosyllabic command ripped through the air at top volume. They could just barely make out the word "Charge!" above the rabble of a dozen voices. Boots fell hard against the wood, creating a sound like a stampede of buffalo above their heads.

They heard Amelia yell for Mr. Turnbuckle. The helmsman had apparently been dislodged, if the boat's sudden nosedive had anything to say about it. Silver managed to catch his weight on his prosthetic leg before he slid backward, but Jim, on the other hand, had no traction and was jerked forward. He crashed hard against the man's stomach, instead.

Silver's organic arm automatically secured itself around Jim's waist, keeping him from jostling until the steering wheel was recaptured. They both hoped that it was Turnbuckle who'd retrieved it.

"Weren't there seven of them?" They heard Dr. Doppler shout with great alarm. "There were seven, I'm sure of it!"

Amelia wasted no time. "We lost one, men! Scour every inch of this ship and do not stop until that wretched pirate has been brought to me on his knees." The last three words of the captain's demand were spoken with a particularly malicious inflection.

Jim didn't realize he was panting until the sound of approaching footsteps led him to suck in a breath and hold it. His hands twisted in the fabric of Silver's shirt subconsciously.

For a painfully long time the kitchen was quiet, save for the labored breathing of its mystery occupant. Then, in a flash, the door to the pantry flew open.

Jim's gasp brought the rogue pirate's eyes directly to him and a thin grin curled the intruder's lips. " _You_." He took a step into the pantry. "Soalga would pay a pretty penny for that map of yours, Hawkins."

The boy's pupils dilated.

"As well as the one who found it."

Silver was on his feet in an instant, facing the man with a deathly serious expression. "Ye don't touch a single hair on the boy's head without my say so." The gears whirred in his mechanical arm, and, with practiced poise, he thrust his gun into the other man's stomach.

Before he could pull the trigger, the man slipped away as though he were an illusion. A moment later he'd apprehended Jim and had the barrel of his own gun pressed firmly against his temple. "Shoot and the boy dies," he warned, taking a step back.

Silver froze, looking between the man and Jim with his best snarl set beneath glaring eyes. Then, a second later, he grinned something wicked. "Ye messed with the wrong cabin boy, ye did. And his pet."

Jim's brows shot up at this epiphany. With nothing more than a sharp whistle on Silver's behalf, Morph shot up from Jim's pocket to snatch the weapon from the stranger's hand, wasting no time in flitting toward the stairs and leaving a stream of bubbly laughter in his wake.

The stranger growled and yanked Jim's head back by the hair. In an instant, one of his claws was at the boy's throat. "Try me," he hissed venomously.

In the space of a few seconds, heavy footfalls alerted the room to an entering presence, a gun sounded, and Jim's captor hit the ground with an agonized wail, followed by an array of curses that even Silver had to admit were impressive.

"Move even a millimeter and you're as dead as a doornail, Pew."

Amelia's boots clicked across the floor with measured calmness antithetical to Jim's racing heart. Her very presence commanded attention. "You and your ruffians shall be punished by the highest graces of the law," she said, sternly eyeing Pew from where he was knelt, one leg bloodied, on the ground, "and so help me if you make so much as a _peep_ down in the hold I will take your heads for myself." She snapped her fingers, which brought Dr. Doppler to her side. "Doctor, I entrust his wound to you. A little gauze will suffice." She and the doctor each gathered a side of the pirate and hoisted him toward the brig, cursing and spitting all the way.

Jim watched them ascend the stairs in a state of immovable shock. Once they disappeared around the corner and Amelia was heard issuing orders to throw the pirates into the brig, he thawed. He blinked and looked at his hands as though he were surprised he still had them. A sudden rise of giddiness overtook him at the knowledge that he was alive and uncaptured, and he laughed. Without hesitation he rushed up to Silver and threw himself into his arms.

The cook received this well, if his hearty bark of laughter meant anything. He tightened his arms around the boy and hefted him up off the ground to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Thank heavens yer alive. I woulda sooner offered to die meself than see you hurt." He sighed and rested his chin atop Jim's head.

Despite the previous conundrum, Jim seemed to be faring fine. His buzzing nerves were slowly calming and he was able to melt into the chef's embrace without having to think at all. For the time being it was just them. He was allowed the proximity that Silver offered no one else. This thought, strangely enough, comforted him.

They stayed like that for a few seconds until Jim stiffened and Silver all but dumped him back onto his feet. The latter cleared his throat noisily. "Ye sure yer okay, Jimbo?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." He smiled bashfully at the floor before he shook his head and looked up at the other seriously. "Are you?"

Silver's eyebrows furrowed. "Aye. Why d'ya ask?"

"No reason." There was definitely a reason, and Silver had a feeling it wasn't in regards to their contretemps with Pew.

After a moment of shuffling on Jim's part, a toothy smile found its way onto his face. "I can't believe I just saw a pirate. An _actual_ pirate!"

Silver smiled fondly and ruffled Jim's hair. "Aw, they aren't so excitin'. Calm down."

"You're one to talk!" Jim replied with a laugh as he half-heartedly swatted the man's hand away.

Silver's heart nearly gave out at those words.

What was supposed to have been a question on his part came out more like a warbled string of noises, but Jim saved grace by piping up a second later with, "Bein' on so many ships, you've probably dealt with plenty of scoundrels, right? Don't lie. I bet you're as adventurous as I am."

In the place of what should've been relief, Silver only felt a gnawing sense of guilt. Well, the boy wasn't wrong, he'd give him that. "Oh, I had my fair share of run-ins, I did."

"Tell me about one." The way Jim's eyes glittered made it hard to decline, but it was something he had to do.

"Aww, not now. Ye oughta get back to work 'fore the captain comes a'lookin'." He placed a hand on the small of Jim's back and shoved with just enough force to make a point. "Go on, out with ya."

Reluctantly, Jim did. On deck he reunited with Morph, who squealed merrily and nuzzled up to his cheek the moment he saw him. In the midst of his entertaining the blob, the captain approached, eyes narrowed to slits and mouth drawn tight.

"Hawkins," she said crossly, sending Morph ducking for cover behind Jim's back. "Your absence during today's tirade was unacceptable. I understand that you are young, but I do not lament the fact that you were caught up in this. It was, after all, your decision to board with us and, in the event that something like this _ever_ happens again, I expect full well for you to assist us in eradicating the problem." Her gloved hands found purchase on her hips to emphasize her displeasure.

"What're you talking about?" The boy asked. "It isn't like I was _trying_ to hide."

"Ah!" She held up a finger. "You were found with Mr. Silver—and don't think for a moment that he won't be spoken to as well—in the kitchen's pantry. I do call that hiding." She tipped her head slightly to the side and gestured to her left for Delbert's support. "Wouldn't you say that was hiding, Doctor?"

"I—well, I mean—" The man in question looked guiltily at Jim for the briefest of moments before, under the scrutinizing eye of Amelia, he agreed. "You were obviously not in motion at the time and that _does_ constitute a willful attempt to disguise yourself. No offense, of course."

"It wasn't my fault!" Jim scoffed. "He pulled me out of the way before I could go anywhere."

Amelia and Delbert exchanged glances. "Well," said the former, "then I shall direct my more austere admonitions to him. At any rate, heed my warning, Hawkins. Now, back to work." She clapped twice, then descended into the galley, presumably to do as she'd promised.

Jim didn't seem to realize until a few seconds later that he'd sold the man out. He set his jaw to the side before mumbling a low, "Oops…"

At that, Delbert smiled. "It's quite all right, Jim. Our captain may be daunting, but that old cook can certainly fend for himself." With that to offer and nothing more, the doctor retreated.

For the cabin boy, the remaining daylight hours were spent repairing the minor damage that the earlier commotion had caused—that is to say, he had to rearrange knocked-over barrels and scrub a couple of small blood spatters out of the wood's grain. Near the end of his cleaning he found a tooth, at which he grinned and mumbled an amused, "Gross."

Well after dinner time, once the majority of the crew had fallen asleep, Jim snuck back into the kitchen, poking his head around the corner in time to see Silver staring absently at the pantry door while he pet Morph. He appeared to be whispering something to the little floating blob, but whatever it was Jim was too far away to hear.

Catching sight of their hiding place again triggered the memory of earlier and sent a thrill along his spine. It was a fresh memory, of course. He could still practically taste fear on his tongue. He remembered how good it felt to be swept up by the larger man, cradled like he was a treasure, kissed on the forehead in the heat of almost-loss. Jim subconsciously reached up and touched the spot gently.

That was when Silver's voice jerked him out of his trance. "Jimbo!" he called. The man was remarkably good at sounding chipper when he really wasn't. "What're ye doin' up so late, now?"

"Can't sleep."

"Too much excitement for one day, ah?"

A small smile crept onto Jim's face. "Yeah." There was a moment of silence, which the boy felt the need to fill. "So, uh, sorry I got you in trouble with the captain."

Silver laughed a couple times. "Oh, lad, I was gonna catch it from her no matter what."

Jim looked over his shoulder at the stairs, then back at him. "I didn't know you went against protocol to protect me."

More silence. The air tingled with a slight discomfort that prickled on Jim's skin. He had a feeling the direction of their conversation had suddenly shifted. Had it? Or was he only hoping it had?

Eventually Silver did answer after he'd sent Morph to bed with a warm farewell. He shifted his weight onto his mechanical leg and shrugged one shoulder. "Ay, I did. But do ye blame me?"

The notion that they were heading into strange waters strengthened. Jim swallowed thickly but didn't back down from the question. "Well you did get me into trouble." An awkward laugh on his part spilled out into the air and hung there until Silver replied.

"Ha! If ye think _yer_ the one that got the short end o' the stick…!" He sighed more than laughed through his nose before easing himself into the nearest chair.

"I guess you're right." Jim took another step inside. "So, why'd you do it?"

As though he'd been expecting the question (and he very well might have), Silver responded in a heartbeat. "I weren't about to let ye get hurt up there. The cap'n and the rest are more'n capable of dealing with a handful of pirates."

"Psh, I could've handled it," Jim said defensively, forgetting for a moment that he hadn't exactly fared too well in their last encounter.

His memory was jolted back in place for him when Silver raised his voice. "Blast it, Jim, no ye couldn't've. I saw ye nearly _die_ back there, and if—"

Jim butted in with, "I was gonna handle it!"

"Handle what? A madman with a gun to yer head?" Silver's irritation unraveled slowly when Jim made no answer. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. "If I'd've lost you…"

"Then what? What am I worth if I apparently can't even fend for myself?" He hadn't meant as much vitriol as he'd spit out, but he could tell his words had poisoned the smile Silver forced for his sake.

"Ah, don't talk like that, now. You ought to get to bed before—"

Jim didn't know why, but the burning need to ruin things between them sprung up in his throat like fire. "No," he said firmly. "Don't try and change the subject. I wanna know what you really think of me."

Silver looked honestly taken aback. His eyes darted from one end of the kitchen to the other in an effort to avoid the boy's beseeching stare while he formulated his response.

Meanwhile, Jim kept firing questions from the store that had built up on his tongue. "Do you think I can't handle myself? Is that it? Do you think I'm some useless kid who can't keep it together?" Jim was mortified that his frustration had welled up in the form of tears. They pricked at the corners of his eyes and he furiously wiped them away with his sleeve. "What do I even mean to you?"

Eventually the reply came, perhaps a little haunted—Jim couldn't tell. "More'n you should," Silver admitted. His weary expression held a glimmer of something Jim wanted more than anything to unearth, but at that moment the cook rose, approached him with such deliberateness that Jim subconsciously backed up a couple of steps, and laid his organic hand atop his head. That was all he did for a moment. Then, finally, he ruffled his hair and clapped him on the shoulder. "Yer strong, mark me. I never thought you was a coward and I never will. Is that all yer worried about?"

The boy sobered. In the absence of a response, Silver nodded in understanding. "Now listen to me. Yer smart as paint and tough as nails, ya are." He smiled genuinely this time and leaned down to kiss Jim's forehead, just like he had earlier.

This time Jim said something. More particularly he asked a question, coated in curiosity and issued without a second thought. "Why did you do that?"

To his surprise, Silver looked bewildered at first, like he hadn't even noticed he'd been doing something out of the ordinary. A second later, however, the inquiry clicked. "Ah, that… Well, I mean it to say goodnight, a'course."

"You've never done it before."

"No, I suppose I haven't."

Silver was being infuriatingly casual about the whole thing and Jim was having none of it. "Well, what changed, huh?"

He was met with a half-guarded smile on Silver's end. "Absolutely nothin', Jimbo." And Jim knew he meant it.

"Now, then." The man cleared his throat. "Ye know yer not s'posed to be down here at this hour."

"Well," Jim began, scuffing his boots on the floor, "maybe it's my turn to break protocol." One corner of his mouth turned upward almost fiendishly. "A little secret never hurt anyone."

Silver sighed, even as a warm smile crossed his face. "Not yet it hasn't." He swallowed hard. "But I wouldn't mind it in the least if ye were to stay down here a while."

Jim beamed as though he'd been awarded some great honor. "All right, old man. If you say so."

The cook watched with measured merriment as the other brushed up against his organic arm. When he draped it around Jim's shoulders, the grin the boy boasted blurred into something softer.

Suddenly alight with nerves and warning signs flashing in his head, Silver could do nothing but shift his eyes to settle anywhere but on Jim, who was beginning to look like he could doze off at any second. He was certain that this was a bad idea. He couldn't keep breaking the rules like this. What if the captain started questioning his conduct? He had a couple of reasons to avoid any trouble while on this ship, and one of them was currently pressed up against his side, eyes closed, breathing gently like he couldn't possibly get any more comfortable than he was right then.

The other reason, although important, seemed less pertinent at the moment. As a matter of fact, it hadn't been at the forefront of his mind for quite some time, now.

Silver realized with an aching jolt in his chest that the threat of being caught wasn't the biggest worry that plagued him. For once, he didn't know what to do. There was too much depending on him and one screw-up could mean the end of everything he'd planned. Then again, he thought, finally trusting himself to look down at the boy, there was no harm in having Jim down in the kitchen. He'd done it before. The captain probably wouldn't even mind.

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, which Jim commented on sleepily. "Somethin' wrong, Silver?"

Lord. The way his name formed on Jim's lips sounded better than anything he could rightfully think of, then. With some difficulty he replied, "No, Jim."

And he'd be damned if the responding hum didn't sound downright pleased. "Good, 'cause I don't really wanna move," Jim mumbled. He looked at him with purpose, his eyes bright. "And, I mean," he continued, his voice relaying the sort of mischief that Silver had gotten accustomed to hearing from him, "after today's mess I think you could use some good company."

"What makes ye think yer good company?" Silver laughed at his own joke.

Jim's grin was impossibly wide. When he turned the slightest bit to press up against Silver's stomach, the cook decided that nothing could separate them for the time being. Though he ached with the thought of tomorrow, when he'd planned to have a word with Scroop and the others, he could take solace in the presence of his favorite person for at least a few more hours. It was only them. Just the two of them in comfortable companionship, alone.

If something went wrong, he would always have this moment standing before his cabin boy, who looked at him with stars burning in his eyes and the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. If he'd been so inclined, he might say that he could do nothing right for the rest of his life and still be content.

"Aw, I'm just kiddin'," he said softly, "yer the best company I can think of. Really, ye are."

"Yeah," Jim said dazedly, then cleared his throat and hurriedly corrected himself. "I mean, thanks. You too." He shifted his focus to the right. "So, uh… Listen, this might sound dumb, but you're, like…" Silver raised an eyebrow. Jim blew his tousled hair from his eyes before he made himself look back. "You mean a lot to me," he finished.

Ignoring the cacophony of doubts being drilled into his brain, Silver acted on the prospect of never having another moment like this again. He pulled Jim close and held him like he'd never intended to let go. He felt the way Jim's hands grasped at his shirt, the way he nuzzled his face against him, and even if it was just for tonight—even if it was just for this moment—John Silver felt whole.

It was over more quickly than he would've liked. Jim pulled away bearing a thoughtful look, and the way he began analyzing his face made Silver feel slightly sick to his stomach. _Blast it_ , he thought, seizing up. His doubts returned with a vengeance, multiplying, growing louder and louder every second, threatening to destroy his calm façade. He'd always been confident in his ability to fake a smile and lie. He was good at it. But if Jim were to ask him what he had earlier—the words _"What do I even mean to you?_ " still echoed in his ears—he wasn't sure what would hurt Jim more, a lie or the truth. There didn't seem to be a right answer.

"Hey…" This was spoken with some hesitance.

Silver closed his eyes and braced himself, but when nothing else followed he looked back at Jim. "What's on yer mind?" he dared to ask.

"Nothing, really." Jim shrugged, then tapped his boot on the floor for a couple of beats. "Now would probably be a good time for us to get to sleep…"

"Right," Silver returned, regaining his composure in slow increments. "Ye wouldn't want yer bunkmates wonderin' where ye got off to."

"I guess not." Jim licked his lips. "I got a question, though."

"…Aye?"

"Do I get another kiss goodnight?"

The warning signal went off in Silver's head again, but by then he'd lost the will to acknowledge it. "So that's it, eh?" He crossed the distance between them with a single step and stooped down, too nervous to even bother being gentle or slow. So when Jim surprised him by launching onto his tiptoes and catching him by the mouth instead, they collided with a quick burst of force, leaving Silver feeling a little dizzy. He barely had time to process a thing before Jim threw his arms around his neck and yanked him closer.

Suddenly he was overly conscious of every move either of them made. He could've drowned in the way Jim's lips turned upward when the affection was reciprocated, or the way the boy moved closer with bolstered confidence. His hand maneuvered to Jim's lower back for the last seconds of their kiss, then abruptly jerked away when they parted.

Jim cocked his head. "What's the matter?"

Silver spluttered through half of an answer before a satisfied smirk lit across the other's face and shut him up.

"I think I know what it is," Jim continued as he crossed his arms.

Silver stared at him for the longest time before he gave an uneasy smile in response. "Aren't ye s'posed to be in bed?"

Jim didn't budge. "You kissed me back," he said, as if Silver hadn't been aware.

The cook rubbed the back of his neck, glanced around, then refocused his gaze on the boy before him. "Aye, I did," he replied, softer than Jim must have expected, if his answering confusion was anything to go by.

"You all right?" His eyes were curious, searching.

"More'n all right, not that I have any business to be."

Without skipping a beat, Jim said, "I think you have plenty of business to be." And, like that, the smirk was back.

Silver laughed. "And _you_ have plenty o' business to be in bed right about now, James Hawkins. I won't be hearin' a word of complainin' tomorrow morning, got it?"

Jim didn't argue this time. Instead, he ambled to the stairs and mounted the first step. He wasn't one to leave things unfinished, however, and he made sure the cook was listening when he said, steadily, "I meant it."

Silver turned around, eyebrows raised. He was poised to speak, but by the time his gaze landed on the stairs Jim had already disappeared.

He continued to stand there—seeing as he had nowhere he had to be and sleeping seemed like a far-fetched endeavor—fiddling idly with his sleeve while he let his head run rampant with thoughts of clandestine meetings beneath the deck in the middle of the night. Past the noises of his inner worries, constantly torturing him with their insistence that he wasn't one to be loved, to be cared about, he heard Jim's voice, sweet and sincere. _I meant it._

If he'd felt like a sinner before he really did now, because the worst thing he'd ever done wasn't falling in love, but allowing Jim to love him back.

 _I meant it._

Despite himself, something in him lightened. He knew Jim was no fool. Everything the boy thought he analyzed, picked apart and tested on his tongue, and there was no way he'd let anything slip by him if he weren't completely sure of himself. The two of them had faced the stormy eyes of a rogue pirate together. They'd exchanged words and glances too many times to count. Silver was sure they would mark their time together with blood, sweat, and tears if they had nothing else to give, and he, for one, would be damned if he lied to himself any longer.

So let it happen, he thought, picking up a purp from the barrel behind him and turning it around in his palm. If it made Jim happy, he'd do it all in a heartbeat or less.


End file.
